


The Reunion

by apprenticenanoswarm



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Grey ace Din, M/M, Warning for forceful removal and desecration of religious garb, warning for torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apprenticenanoswarm/pseuds/apprenticenanoswarm
Summary: In the wake of their covert's annihilation, Paz Vizla is captured by the Imps.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Paz Vizla, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Paz Vizla
Comments: 52
Kudos: 664





	1. Chapter 1

For a month after Din Djarin’s departure, there was peace. 

Then the Imperials came for them.

Paz was one of the last to leave. He wouldn’t have left at all if he hadn’t watched his oldest friend and comrade die right in front of his eyes and sworn an oath to get her children to safety. When he finally fled, he fled wounded, wracked with grief, and clutching the two youths to his chest. Hid in the desert for four days, then stole a ship and got off the planet with the Imps hard on his heels.

“I’m not afraid to die a warrior’s death alongside you, uncle,” said the eldest child, swallowing.

“I know,” he said, patting her curly head. “But not today.”

He burned every drop of fuel getting them to a small moon where he knew a family who would give them sanctuary.

“Stay with us,” the youngest begged, her tiny face pressed against his helmet.

“I want to,” he said, hugging her back. “But not today.”

Two fresh stab wounds were added to his collection of injuries in the process of stealing a new ship. He incinerated the old one and flew up to meet the approaching Imps in orbit. A few cheeky shots got their attention and, for the next three days, he drew them as far away from the moon as he could.

That was where his reservoir of cunning plans ran dry. What options were left to him? There were no other safe houses within any kind of reasonable distance. His new ship’s weapons were barely more than decorative. No one was coming to save him. And he couldn’t run forever.

A valiant last stand, then, while he still could stand.

For a few weeks, as his untreated injuries grew increasingly foul, he led them on a merry chase through an asteroid belt. When, at last, his fuel ran out, he landed on a waterworld dotted with islands. A pretty place to die.

“Always count the small blessings,” he muttered to himself as he limped out of the ship using his biggest gun as a cane and aiming his second-biggest gun at the enemy vessels as they descended.

It was, indeed, a valiant affair. Would have made for a legendary death if the bastards had had the decency to kill him.

“I lost three buddies because of you,” said one of the Imps, pressing a heel down onto his broken leg as he lay on the stand and tried not to vomit. “So we’re gonna make this reeeeal slow.”

His final thought before passing out from pain was, 'Fuck you, Din Djarin.'

0

They stripped him.

Armour, helmet, underclothes, all of it. Tore it off his body and tied him to a tree.

“Here’s my idea,” said the lead Imp to his companions. “Everyone talks about how tough Mandos are, right? Let’s test that. We’re gonna turn our guns down to the lowest setting and see how many shots he can take.”

“Creative,” he croaked.

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting shot but he was holding out hope that it would be a distraction from the fucking sun. His bare skin, sheltered for most of his life by his armor and fifteen feet of soil, felt like it was starting to cook.

And, yeah, there was shame. Horrible, shuddering shame, far more intense than either the fear or the soreness in his muscles, that his face, the most intimate part of him, the window to his soul, was on display for these mean, ugly wastes of flesh. His face that, in accordance with the Way, he’d shared only with those he loved most; a wife, two husbands, and the seven children he’d trained and cared for. Each time, the gesture of removing his helmet had been understood to be a gift, indeed the most precious of gifts. 'This is for you. These are my eyes, and they are for you. This is my mouth, and it is for you. You have earned it. You are allowed to see all of me, because all of me is for you.'

His most precious gift, now stained with the leers of these cruel, cruel men. Closing his eyes against the glare, Paz took a moment to silently apologize to all those he had loved.

Then they started shooting.

0

As it turned out, the number of shots he could take was upwards of thirty-two. He lost count after that. On their lowest setting, the guns’ blasts felt like very, very hard kicks. The first four or five only left bruises. After that, he felt bones start to creak. There went a rib. Another rib. There went his left arm, snapped clean.

It was agony. But nowhere near lethal. They could, he realized with growing horror, keep him going for a considerably long time.

No. He was Paz Vizla. He wouldn’t succumb to panic. His life had been long and good, full of friends and fights and hot dinners. Let it end with dignity.

(Oh, oh how his chest ached. Oh, how the sun burned.)

Setting his jaw, he forced himself to concentrate on what was worthy of his attention. The gentle lapping of the waves. The breeze, fresh and warm. The distant sound of birdsong, of footsteps and a very soft cooing…

Eh?

Squinting, he looked beyond the Imp who was lining up the next shot. There – a silhouette, rippling in the heat. Someone was approaching. A local?

“No, no,” he whispered, certain that he was about to watch another innocent life being snuffed out. And, though it was, of course, a lesser concern, mortified that yet another stranger would lay eyes on his face.

The Imps noticed the new arrival and their leader called, “You – get lost.”

The silhouette advanced and now Paz could make out the helmet. The pauldrons. The rifle. Oh.

Laughing, the Imp leader said, “Well, well. Another one. Never can predict where you people’re gonna pop up, huh? Stand down, pal. You’re outnumbered and outgunned.”

“I’m aware of that,” said the Mandalorian, coming to a stop and dropping his rifle onto the sand.

The fuck? Din? Yes, yes, it had to be. There was that same beautiful armor that had doomed so many of Paz’s friends.

“So what’s the deal?” the Imp asked, training his gun on Din, who had held up his arms in surrender. “You here to try and negotiate or something?”

“No. No, nothing like that. To be honest, I’m just being a distraction.”

That was the moment Paz realized that he could no longer hear the waves lapping against the shore. He turned his head and was, for one of the only times in his storied career, honestly surprised by the direction his life had taken.

There was a baby on the beach. Curious. The baby belonged to no species Paz could name. Curiouser and curiouser. Still within the realm of plausibility, though. But then you got to the fact that its short, chubby arms were raised, as though to hold up the two, or three, or possibly four million gallons of water hovering fifty feet in the air behind it.

“That… what… huh?” said one of the Imps, echoing Paz’s feelings.

“Gweoooble,” went the baby and dropped the ocean on them.

0

It was, as far as Paz could tell, entirely unnecessary to shoot those who hadn’t been carried off to sea – not one of them could boast a single unbroken bone – but Din did it anyway. The child padded up to Paz and babbled at him, then placed a green hand on his leg.

“By all that’s holy,” Paz gasped, watching his injuries heal, feeling the aches fade from his chest, arms and legs.

“Yeah,” said Din, walking up to the tree he was lashed to.

“Am I hallucinating all this? Is this a fever dream?”

“No.”

Din’s knife made quick work of the ropes. Paz, amazed to find himself able to stand on his own, took a step towards the little one and dropped to his knee. “I don’t know your name, small creature, but I’m in your debt.”

Cooing, the baby offered him a pretty pink shell he’d found. He accepted it and grunted with admiration before standing. Din, who’d been looking up at the sky, looked down at the sand as Paz turned to face him.

“Stop that,” Paz said, tiredly. “I know you saw my face. They all did. It’s done. No use pretending it didn’t happen.”

With obvious reluctance, Din raised his head to meet his gaze; Paz did his best not to flinch. “Are… are you hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“Did they capture any others?”

“Just me, as far as I know.”

They lapsed into silence. What more, really, was there to be said? There Paz stood, naked and ruined, and there Din stood, shining in the sunlight, whole. Paz knew he had every right and reason to be bitter, to hate the man whose actions had, however inadvertently, brought him to this point. He couldn’t. There was too much sadness in his heart.

“The child… it was what the Imps wanted you to find for them, eh?”

“Yes.”

“I can see why. Those powers are extraordinary. If they cloned it, they could build an army of soldiers who could bring one another back from the brink of death. They’d be unstoppable.”

“Yes.”

Silence, again.

“Where did they put your armor?” Din asked.

Paz pointed. “Threw it in a pile over there. One of them pissed on it.”

Immediately, Din started walking towards it, only to stop when Paz lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t, Djarin,” Paz murmured. “Please. What’s done is done. I can’t put it on again. It would be a lie.”

Din’s fists clenched. “The tribe can’t lose you. We’ve already lost too many. Back at home, the Armorer tends to a pile of empty helmets.”

“I mourn them. I mourn for all of us. But this is the Way.”

“Those who saw your face are dead! Tradition states that…”

“Not everyone who saw my face is dead,” Paz reminded him, gently. “There is you. There is the child. Our tradition permits only a few to see us bare. Wives, siblings, sons – you know this, Din. You know our ways better than anyone, devout bookworm that you are.”

Now Din was shaking. For a moment, Paz thought he might strike him.

Then he reached up and, before Paz could stop him, removed his helmet.

The world became empty and still. No birdsong, at least none that Paz could hear. No colors, at least none that Paz could see. There was Din’s face. That was all. Din’s dark hair. Din’s dark eyes. Din’s nose, Din’s skin, Din’s…

“We are one when together,” Din began, and he was damn near finished the entire vow by the time Paz’s poor, exhausted brain caught up and he realized what the fuck was happening.

“You are mad,” he said, simply, and walked away.

Din, pest that he was and had always been, ran after him. “Wait! If you’re refusing me, you must say so to my face! This is the Way!”

Whirling round to loom over him, Paz growled, “The Way can get…”

He paused, swallowed whatever heresy had been about to tumble out of his mouth, and said, “You cannot do this.”

“Why not? Your wife and both your husbands died long ago. I never married. We both follow the Creed. Our goals are similar. Our ideals are similar. We would make a good match. And – and there is no shame in revealing your face to a spouse. None.”

Gracious. So many words all at once from quiet little Din. And how his eyes burned as he spoke, bright and expressive despite the wrinkles gathered at their corners. Paz would never have guessed. “You don’t even want a husband, Din.”

“Don’t pretend to know what I want, Vizla. I’ve been earning money for the tribe since I was seventeen. I never had time to think of such things. But now, at this moment, I have decided that yes, I would like a companion to share my ship and help me raise the child.”

Paz leaned down, eyes narrow, so close their noses touched. “Do you think I need your pity, boy?”

“No. I think the tribe needs your strength,” said Din, low and serious. “Please, my friend. This is a solution to both our problems. Your gift remains shared with only those bonded to you. I gain the wisdom and advice of one who has experience in caring for children. No one need ever know the circumstances in which our union came to be. And, in time, I don’t doubt that we will feel genuine affection for one another. You have a kind heart. I have a soft heart. Love comes easily to both of us.”

The baby had wandered up and was blinking at both of them with mild concern.

“What do you think?” Paz asked it – him – her – them, after a minute. “Personally, I think your father’s lost his marbles.”

“Bwugooweble.”

“Fair point. Fuck it. Alright. I agree.”

They retrieved his armor and washed it in the sea. When his helmet settled down over his head once more, heavy and cool, he nearly wept with relief.

“So, husband,” he said as they made their way to Paz’s ship – their ship now – with Din carrying the baby and Paz carrying the ammunition they’d stolen from the dead Imps. “Where’re we headed?”

“My plan is to head for…” Din began, then cut himself off. When he spoke again, he spoke cautiously. “I, uh, I have various options in mind. I’ll present them to you in the ship and we’ll decide on a course of action over dinner. I would, of course, appreciate your input. In this and in all things.”

Paz grinned. “Poor innocent Din. You have absolutely no idea how marriage works, do you?”

“I know it rests on mutual respect,” said Din, then added quietly, “you obnoxious fucking asshole.”

“Don’t swear in front of the baby, dear.”

“Squeewble-wah!”

“Yes, he is a bad influence, isn’t he?” Paz agreed, petting the little one’s head. “Don’t worry. You’ve got me on your side now, child. We’ll run rings around him, you and I.”

Din sighed heavily.

When they were about to take off, Paz said, “By the way – you do know most unions are sealed with a kiss?”

While Din’s obvious surprise was charming, his accidentally pressing the wrong button and sending the entire ship into a convulsion that resulted in them bouncing off the walls, the ceiling, and, finally, each other, was… also charming, to be honest.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” said Paz, tilting his head at the addled husband sprawled on the floor next to him.

He could feel the glare. Then, very slowly, Din leaned forward and tapped their helmets together.

“There,” he said briskly, standing up and offering Paz a hand. “Now stop being a nuisance and go feed the baby.”


	2. Sticky

The woods were lovely, dark and deep, and Din was catching frogs.

Doing his best, anyway. After three hours of crouching in river water, he’d added two frogs, three fish, a rock and several frog-shaped clumps of mud to the buckets he’d placed at the water’s edge.

“Just line the banks with explosives and catch them as they land,” said Paz, sprawled on the grass nearby, simultaneously whittling a chunk of wood and keeping an eye on the child, who was busy playing with a twig.

“I don’t want them cooked, I told you. He swallows them live.”

“And that’s something we want to encourage, is it?”

Din lunged and swore as his quarry slithered from his grasp. “Yes! Yes. We do. So far, they’re the only food he’s caught for himself. They’re probably part of his species’ staple diet. For all I know, he needs frogs to grow up strong and healthy.”

“Or he was just putting one in his mouth because he’s a baby and that’s what they do.”

“Blweh,” went the child, chewing his twig.

“Quite so, little one! And here’s another point,” said Paz, rolling over to lie on his belly, the better to appreciate the view of his sopping, frustrated husband. “If you think he’s instinctively inclined to eat such things, why aren’t you letting him try to help you? All young things learn to become self-sufficient by copying their parents.”

Din grunted. “It’s too deep. He might drown.”

“So teach him to swim.”

“Or there might be a flash flood. Or the river might be riddled with bacteria. Or…”

As Din’s speculations grew more and more grim, Paz tucked what he’d been whittling into his pocket, then plucked up the child, carried him over to the riverbank, and gently deposited him in the water.

“ _Paz_! For fuck’s sake!”

“Hush. Look.”

The water was, perhaps, deeper where Din was standing, but the child was only submerged up to his middle. He didn’t seem particularly alarmed; in fact, after a moment’s confusion, he trilled and started to splash about like a happy duckling.

“See?” said Paz, triumphantly.

Din leaned over his son, probably waiting for the river bacteria to drive him to violent convulsions. When none were forthcoming, he mused, “Maybe he’s amphibious. He does _look_ kind of like a frog, actually.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. For all we know, his people evolved in a swamp and ate their way to the top of the food chain.”

There it was; that heavy sigh. “I can’t stand stumbling around in the dark like this. I wouldn’t even be able to keep a _pet_ safe if I didn’t know what its natural predators were or what was poisonous to it, much less a child.”

Laying a hand on his shoulder, Paz said, “I know. But a certain level of risk is necessary for growth. This is the Way.”

They’d hidden the ship in the shade of a hill some distance from the river. As they flew back, Paz carried the child. Din, while growing increasingly accustomed to his jetpack, could still find himself in trouble if he encountered unexpected obstacles: a flock of geese emerging from a cloud and smacking directly into his helmet, for example, something that definitely hadn’t happened last week and that they definitely hadn’t sworn never to mention again. So Din was tasked with carrying one bucket containing two live frogs and another containing the three dead fish they’d be having for dinner.

The child devoured both frogs whole and wriggling, which was only the tenth most horrifying thing Paz had seen in his life, then demanded that Din talk to him for an hour before he would consent to sleep. Paz was coming to love these times, when he could clean his armour and watch from the corner of his eye as his husband reviewed the events of the day in a low murmur, cradling the child in his arms.

“Nice planet. Quiet. You like quiet, don’t you? I do too. Hmm. Wonder if you really are amphibious?”

When the child was asleep, Din and Paz retreated to what had become their private quarters for the evening meal. As was customary, they removed their helmets in unison and nodded respectfully at one another before digging into their fish.

Paz, having shared meals with three previous spouses, was amused by Din’s lingering self-consciousness; his small, deliberately neat bites, the way he kept dabbing at his moustache to make sure nothing was caught in it. Silly boy. If anyone should be embarrassed, it was Paz. He, after all, was the ugly old bastard with more scars than skin.

(“Have you given any thought to when you’ll gift yourself to the child?” he’d asked Din yesterday.

Frowning, Din had said, “I’d like it to be a special occasion. His first confirmed kill, maybe.”

“Ah, a special occasion. I wanted it to be like that with my firstborn. Then she threw up on my helmet in the middle of a firefight and I had to choose between taking it off or shooting blind.”)

When his fish was nothing but bones, Din wiped his fingers clean and said, “We can have sex tonight, if you’d like.”

“‘If I’d like’?” said Paz, arching an eyebrow and sipping his water. “I take it the prospect does not entice you.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m not particularly interested in that sort of thing myself, but I know you are. I’m sure I’d like it if I tried it. Everyone else seems to.”

Setting his bowl aside, Paz moved to sit beside him. “Why don’t we try a kiss and see how that goes over?”

Din nodded.

So they tried.

“Your opinion?” Paz said, drawing back.

“It’s fine,” Din said, then, as if to soften the blow, added, “I like your beard.”

Raising his eyes heavenwards, Paz said to the universe at large, “He likes my beard.”

“Sorry. Let’s…”

Paz threw an arm around Din’s narrower shoulders and squeezed. “Husband, I am thrilled that my beard pleases you. If you wish to admire it only from a distance henceforth, I am content. Your company is what matters to me, not the activities we choose to fill the time with.”

Awkward but eager, Din returned the squeeze. “Thank you. There – there are other things I’d like to try. Are you interested in sharing a bed?”

“Very much so.”

“And tending to one another’s grooming? I’d enjoy that.”

They agreed to shower together after clearing away their plates.

Standing under the spray, Paz had the dizzying realisation that he could now see more of Din Djarin than had been seen by any other living thing. Hell – any non-living thing. There were _stars_ in whose light Din had stepped that hadn’t glimpsed an inch of his skin.

Of course, the experience was somewhat diminished by the fact that the water on Din’s blasted antique of a ship was rarely more than one degree above ice-cold.

“Even – brrr – living in a hole in the ground, we had hot water at the covert,” Paz said, teeth chattering as he towelled his hair dry.

“Sorry.”

“Apologise to yourself! Why have you endured this for so long? Surely it wouldn’t cost much to fix whatever the hell’s wrong with your plumbing?”

Din shrugged, picking up a knife and tending to the stubble on his jaw. “No. Not much. But it’s money that the covert needs. Needed. Should I have deprived a Foundling of a new tunic just because I didn’t want my balls to shrink when I washed up?”

“All well and good. That said, there’s a fine line between asceticism and self-neglect,” Paz grunted, snatching the knife from Din’s hand. “Hold still.”

It made his chest ache to see that Din didn’t flinch once as he shaved him, even though it must have been the first time in his life someone had held a blade this close to his throat. He simply kept his large, dark eyes fixed on him, frank and trusting.

“I’ll get the plumbing fixed,” he said after a while.

“Bah. Ignore me. I like to complain.”

“No. I want living here to be satisfying to you. And the covert no longer needs my money.”

What depths of quiet sorrow were contained in that sentence. Paz swallowed and said, “The covert will be rebuilt. The Armorer lives. You live. I live. Once we have unravelled the mystery of the child, we’ll seek out the other survivors and bring them together. Our people have survived being scattered many times, Din.”

Din nodded and didn’t speak again until Paz had finished, at which point he said, “Let me do you now.”

It was nice to have someone’s hands on his skin again. Nicer still that Din really did seem to find his beard a source of pleasure, stroking it and neatening its edges with a craftsman’s care.

0

Sharing a bed with a man used to sleeping alone was a treacherous business. Din would permit a single hand to rest on his side; any more weight than that and he started to fidget. Paz woke up the following morning with no blankets and shoved to the outermost edge of the mattress.

Ah, but what did such things matter, when he could gaze upon Din’s slack, snoring mouth and long eyelashes? So enraptured was he that he briefly forgot the folly of startling one who’d spent so long on his own and on the run, and gently stroked Din’s brow, whereupon his spouse bolted upwards and broke his nose.

After apologies had been voiced and injuries had been tended to, Din gazed out at the stars and said, as though it were a great revelation, “Marriage is complicated, isn’t it?”

“True,” said Paz, sitting in the pilot’s seat. Din had insisted they share it as equals. “Twenty minutes until we land. Weather looks good.”

As per their agreement, Din would be stepping off the ship to find them a job while Paz stayed behind to guard the child and their possessions. It would be the child’s first time alone with him and, to Paz’s surprise, it had been Din’s proposal.

“He needs to recognise you as family,” he’d said. “It’ll reduce the trauma he’ll go through if something happens to me.”

“Wise. Bet I can teach him to say my name by the time you get back.”

A pause. Then: “Vizla, if he says your name before mine, I might actually throw you into space.”

Paz never got to find out if he’d make good on his threat. When Din trudged back to the ship some three hours later, all he’d been able to coax the child into saying was ‘Twaah’ and ‘Glugluboo’.

“Good news?” Paz queried, after a glance to check that Din still had all his limbs.

“A local nobleman’s looking for extra security at a party tomorrow. A merchant wants us to take out some bandits who stole his cargo. A brothel manager says she’s got a client who’ll cough up a hundred credits to have sex with one of us, provided we…”

“…keep the…” Paz murmured.

“…helmet on,” they finished in unison and grimaced as one.

Sighing, Din sat down next to the child. “How’s he been?”

“No problem. Way better behaved than my kids ever were, to be honest. Oh, I almost forgot.”

Reaching into his pocket, Paz took out the result of yesterday’s whittling and presented it to the child.

“Is that a mudhorn?” said Din, flatly.

“Yeah. Figured it’s time for him to have some toys.”

The child turned the wooden quadruped over in his hands, babbling. Then he looked up at Din and giggled.

“Boom!” he chirped, tapping the beast’s horn against his father’s cuirass. “Bwaah!”

“Oh, I see,” Din replied. “Yes, I did nearly die, didn’t I? I’m glad you found it amusing. Sadistic womp rat.”

“I’ll make one of you next, so he can recreate your battle for me,” said Paz, settling back smugly. “Now, which job do we take? These legs of mine need stretching.”

“The merchant’s offering more money. The nobleman’s party will be safer.”

“Let’s do both.”

“What about the child?”

“Take him with you to the party. Poor thing needs a little fun.”

“And you go after the bandits alone?”

Paz scoffed. “You think I can’t deal with a gaggle of common criminals? Don’t be foolish, husband.”

0

God, it had been _ages_ since he’d had a proper fight. He felt fantastic, flying back to the ship covered in blood and smelling like blaster fire.

“Success!” he bellowed, striding in and throwing down his earnings. “Din, I… what in hell?”

Every item in the ship that wasn’t strapped down – including tools, rations, and medical supplies – was floating two feet in the air. Din sat on the ground with the child in his lap, his posture conveying soul-deep exhaustion.

“Someone gave him wine,” he mumbled, his helmet in his hands, while the baby cooed and made its new toys spin around. “I took my eyes off him for thirty seconds and some _fucking moron_ gave him wine. He levitated the whole buffet table. And the whole band.”

Paz clucked sympathetically and lifted the child up. “Drunk and disorderly? And in public, too? This is not the Way, little one.”

“I didn’t get paid,” Din sighed, lying back as though he might never rise again.

“I did. Quite a lot. And I stole food and weapons from the bandits, so we need not risk the marketplace.”

“Good. Well done. Can you carry him to his crib and try to get him settled? Someone upended their glass over my head. It dripped under my armour. I’m _sticky_.”

He sounded so put out, so petulant, that Paz had to restrain himself from scooping him up and carrying him into the shower to clean him up himself. “Very well.”

It took forty minutes of cuddles and lullabies to get the child asleep and their possessions safely back on the ground. Paz folded the blankets over him and snuck away, patting himself on the back. _Still got it._

Din sat on their bed, naked, wet from his shoulder and staring into space. Privately, Paz wondered if he’d ever get used to that gentle profile or those soft wrinkles spread across his brow.

“He rests,” he announced, removing his helmet.

Din flashed him a smile and Paz’s attention was drawn to the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

“You look tired, husband.”

“Mm. Sorry. I slept badly last night. And the night before. Too used to sleeping alone.”

Paz’s heart plummeted. “Ah. Very well. Then, perhaps, I should…”

“No!” Din almost barked. “No. Please. I like it. I like you being close. I’m just not accustomed to it yet. Give me time.”

Tentatively, Paz said, “You’re not interested in sex – but there are other types of physical intimacy we could enjoy. To help you become accustomed. May I try?”

After a certain amount of trial and error, they discovered that Din was, in fact, partial to back rubs, provided Paz avoided the bottom of his neck – he was ticklish – and an old wound on his shoulder. 

“I like being married,” Din murmured in the midst of Paz’s ministrations, reaching out to squeeze his knee. “I wasn’t sure I would, at first.”

“I like it too, husband.”

“Oh – I contacted a plumber. We’ll have hot water by the end of tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll do your beard again. Properly, this time.”

“You did it perfectly well yesterday.”

Din glanced up at him, then lifted an arm and, very softly, ran his fingers over Paz’s jaw. “No. It’s not quite symmetrical. I’ll fix it.”

Catching his hand, Paz held it loosely and said, thickly, “Alright. I’d like that.”

“And… perhaps after that, we can find another river and teach him to swim.”

_The end_


	3. Good Intentions

Eventually, they spoke to the right people. Eventually, they landed on the right planets. Eventually, they found exactly what they were looking for, in the form – what a shitty sense of humour the universe had – of a droid. Which they abruptly stole.

“This is most improper,” it wailed as Din held a gun to its head and Paz checked to make sure it didn’t have any weaponry hidden away beneath its golden exterior.

“What’s your function?” Din asked, for the droid, with its remarkably humanoid face, was the first of its kind he’d seen.

“My good man,” the droid said, turning its big round optical sensors on him with something like outrage. “I’ll have you know that I am none other than C-3PO, companion and nursemaid to the House of Organa!”

Unable to believe his luck, Din said, “A nurse droid, huh? I was… friends with one of those a while back.”

“His designation?”

“You wouldn’t have heard of him,” said Din, reaching down to pick up the kid, who had, of course, toddled over to inspect their guest. “Do me a favour, nurse. My son’s been in a rotten mood all day. Check him over for me.”

“Oh! What a handsome lad.”

A few minutes later, both the droid and Paz had finished their inspections.

“No weapons,” grunted Paz, leaning back against the wall. “Frankly, I’m surprised this bucket of bolts can even stand upright. It’s a fucking mess in there.”

C-3PO made a small, offended noise, as the child climbed up onto his head. “I am pleased to report, Mister Anonymous Kidnapper, that your son is suffering from nothing more than a mild ear infection. A small bacta spray should resolve the problem.”

“Thanks,” said Din, and felt Paz’s surprised gaze on the back of his neck. “Now tell us everything you know about the Jedi.”

With, it turned out, very little persuading, the droid spilled the whole sorry story. It had, apparently, been there in person for a large chunk of it, and those events it had missed it could nonetheless relay with some detail; the House of Organa was evidently home to a large and comprehensive library.

The tale lasted three hours, during which time Paz dozed off at least twice and Din tended to the child’s ear. When it was finally over, thoughtful silence reigned.

“To summarise,” said Din, keeping his voice level, “all the suffering that the Empire has visited upon the galaxy and the trillions of innocent people who live in it – _all of that_ happened because the Jedi adopted a child who could use the Force and then failed to raise him properly?”

“Er… well, that’s an uncharitable analysis. I suppose it’s _broadly_ accurate, but…”

“And,” said Paz, “you, droid, are currently serving as a nursemaid to a new child who can use the Force and who will, presumably, at some point, be given to the Jedi?”

“Yes, dear little Ben probably will be placed in his Uncle Luke’s care for a short while, to train him and…”

“Get the guns,” said Din, turning to his husband. “Get all the guns.”

0

Of all the obstacles they’d expected to encounter while breaking into the house where Ben Organa was being raised, there was but one they hadn’t been fully prepared for.

“Get away from my son or die,” Leia snarled, pushing the business end of her rifle into the gap between Paz’s helmet and cuirass.

“Hah! I am a Mandalorian, princess. You think you can threaten me into abandoning an innocent boy?” he spat back.

For his part, Din was beginning to have certain reservations concerning their mission. For one thing, Leia Organa didn’t seem the type of parent who’d willing give her child over to anyone who hurt or neglect them. For another, Ben Organa didn’t seem the type of child who lived in fear of being taken from his home and inducted into a loveless cult. His bedroom, where their current stand-off was taking place, was overflowing with cuddly toys, building blocks, games and art supplies.

(Din thought of his own child’s small wooden mudhorn and of the smiling ragdoll with button eyes that had been his only toy in his youth, his parents’ home having been overflowing with love but not with money.)

The boy himself sat cross-legged on his bed, watching the confrontation as though it were a theatrical masterpiece. “Mum, can I have the big one’s jetpack when you kill him? And the green thing – it’s cute. Can he be my pet?”

(They’d meant to leave the child back on the ship. Somehow, he’d snuck into the bag full of medical supplies they’d thought Ben Organa might be in need of, and was now sitting on Din’s shoulder.)

“Ben, go outside and call for security,” said Leia. “You two – don’t move a mus…”

At which point a man wearing brown robes and carrying a sword made of blue light stepped into the room, took one look at the child and said, “Master Yoda?”

0

The rest of the day was filled with explanations. The princess, merciful once she understood their motives, sat sipping tea while Paz relayed their son’s fraught history. Din and Luke, meanwhile, eyeballed one another suspiciously, until Ben offered the child one of his soft toys and all enmity dissolved into mutual delight.

“Ben’s a great kid but he has a lot of trouble making friends,” Luke whispered as they watched them play.

“Mine hasn’t really had the chance,” Din replied sadly. “Never stayed in one place long enough.”

Patting his shoulder, Luke said, “You can only do your best, you know? Me, I stayed in one place until I was nineteen and I hardly made any friends. The strongest bonds in my life all formed after I started moving around. Love’s a liquid, my friend, not a solid.”

He was kind of a weirdo but Din liked him. If this was the man who’d be training Ben Organa, the kid would probably turn out fine.

“You’re welcome to look through the royal archives to see if you can find any information about your son’s species,” Leia said, ruffling Ben’s hair. “But it’ll be an uphill battle. The Empire stole so much knowledge from the galaxy. Our current estimates say that they incinerated over eight trillion books and scrolls and destroyed at least five billion oral traditions.”

Paz nodded. “We know. Many of those books were our own.”

0

As predicated, they found precious little. The Empire, it seemed, had been particularly set on erasing any and all historical records that didn’t show Luke Skywalker’s late master and his organisation in a bad light. No texts remained that offered any insight into Yoda’s private life or where he’d been born. Several days of research did, however, reveal a few tantalising mentions of a green-skinned, swamp-dwelling species spread across two or three small, damp, distant planets, a people who valued their privacy but had, on occasion, traded goods with explorers.

“What are we really looking for here, though?” Paz asked, as Leia’s droids made copies of the relevant texts for them. “If we’re after greater understanding of his powers, we should be talking to Skywalker.”

“And we will. But our son’s life will be easier if we can contact members of his species. They’ll know what diseases might befall him and how to treat them, what age he might live to, and so on and so forth. And who knows? His biological parents may still be alive and missing him.”

“Or they may have sold him. Or abandoned him,” Paz grumbled.

Din sighed and place a hand on his arm. “The thought of having to give him away hurts me too. I’m hoping – may I be forgiven – that all his living relatives are dead. If they’re not, and they want him back, we can, nonetheless, still ask to be a part of his life. He’s our son now, even if he’s also someone else’s.”

A giggle caught their attention and they turned to watch as Ben Organa, seated at the other side of the library, turned the page of his colouring book to show the child another picture, while C-3PO attempted to offer them both orange juice and scones.

“This is a good place,” Paz murmured, wistful. “If this is the family charged with putting the galaxy back together again, then I have hope for the future.”

0

The Razor Crest departed the planet almost twice as heavy as it had arrived. Leia, upon discovering that they were low on rations, all but ordered them to accept five dozen jars and tins of non-perishables and three dozen boxes of healthy snacks for the child. She also gifted them with several of Ben’s old toys and clothes that her son had outgrown, new bedding, soft pillows, and the picture book Ben had shown him.

“This is far too generous,” Din protested.

“Nonsense. Now, how are you doing for ammunition?”

Luke, levitating the child up to eye-level, cooed, “Bye, little man. You look after your dads, okay? And may the Force be with you.”

“Preferably not,” Paz grunted, whisking their son away.

“Thank you,” Din said to the twins. “We’re in your debt.”

“We’re all in this together,” said Leia, patting his shoulder. “Ben – say goodbye.”

“Bye. Come back soon and teach me how to use your jetpack.”

As they lifted off, Paz slumped in the cockpit’s second chair, the child in his lap, sighing heavily. “I rather feel that we made fools of ourselves, husband.”

“We rushed to judgement,” Din admitted, setting the ship on course to Dagoba. “But we’ve gained allies and information.”

A snicker. “Listen to him. ‘Allies’. Like you aren’t half in love with both of them.”

Din shrugged. “Can you blame me? He’s got very nice cheekbones and she nearly killed us.”

“Did you see her face when she held the gun to my neck? Aah – glorious,” Paz reminisced, laying a hand over his heart. “Out of interest, are there any bounties out on that husband of hers?”

“He’s a galactic hero, so no.”

“Alas. Hah! Look, Din. Luke taught him a new trick.”

The child, babbling happily, had started to float. Glancing back to watch, Din said, “That’s… definitely going to be a problem.”

“On the contrary: we no longer need a pram. We can just tie a rope around his waist and pretend that he’s a balloon.”

“Fweee,” said the child, and dribbled on Din’s helmet.


End file.
